


Introduction to Long-Distance Relationships and Internet-Based Dating

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [5]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Britta Perry, Could be considered season 7, Established Annie/Britta Relationship, F/F, Long-Distance Relationship, Post-Canon, Some angst, lesbian Annie Edison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: Neither one of them is super thrilled with this—Britta in Colorado, Annie in D.C.—but they’ll learn to adapt, for now.They wake up in the morning, like every morning, but the ones from before—during Greendale—were better. Because waking up apart never quite feels normal, not ever.They’re stretched thin across states, but still reaching for an invisible horizon. Half-hoping, half-terrified, that it might be forever.They’re not sure who texts out the mantra first—Life is hard, babe. Let’s get our shit together—during their shared early morning Wednesday workouts, one when Britta dutifully sets her alarm for four-thirty when Annie gets up at half past six, but it works.They’ll make it work. They have to.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835497
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

Britta's reward for working her ass off to land an actual job—as a legitimate mental health services provider, no less!—during her final, six-credit semester comes due after she's officially graduated and roughly three months after she'd started working with the Greendale Public School District. In late July, actually. In the form of a phone call from Annie, while she, Jeff, Frankie, and Chang are having a little barbeque at Frankie's place one Saturday afternoon to catch up.

"Hey, you, what's going on?" Britta answers.

"I...where are you?"

"At Frankie's. Usual suspects are here for a little cookout, minus Craig." She mouths, _"It's Annie,"_ to the rest of them and she's about to tell her they say hi when she interrupts.

"Could we talk, like, just the two of us? I've got some news."

Britta frowns at her apprehensive tone. "Be right back," she calls to the rest of the group as she tilts her head toward Frankie's house before walking into her kitchen.

"Okay, it's just the two of us," Britta reassures her. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes. No. I—I'm not sure."

"First of all, no matter what, I've got you, okay?"

"Ye-yeah. Thanks." Annie's breathing on the other end comes out a touch steadier, and Britta feels better, but not entirely great, as she answers, "Of course. Now, second of all, could you start from the beginning of why you're calling?" She's handled enough of Annie's panic and anxiety attacks over the years to know the importance of establishing guardrails.

"So, you know my schedule here is kinda weird, right? How I can sort of be on call, even as an intern?"

"Yeah—and that still feels like labor exploitation," she's quick to argue, "but, given that you're working for the FBI…"

"It is what it is," Annie completes her sentence. "At least I get paid for the extra time. Anyway, I'm in today, and my supervisor just came by to talk with me since we—like, all the interns—are supposed to have performance reviews next week since we've only got a few weeks left."

"Alright," Britta answers slowly, her mind whirring, wondering if she'll need to give Annie a reminder to aim for progress, not perfection. "What did they say?"

"She said they've been impressed with me. Really impressed."

She strains to hear the usual pride in Annie's tone that comes through when she gets such glowing affirmation, but she can't quite pick up on it. "That's awesome, Annie!"

"I mean, yeah, it is," Annie acknowledges, and Britta catches her small, self-satisfied smile crop up for a second before it vanishes just as quickly. "It's just that…she's pretty sure they're gonna offer me a job. And when I asked what 'pretty sure' meant, she said to get in touch with HR if I have any issues with extending my lease and they could help me with finding a place."

"Oh my God, that's…"

The word amazing is hanging there for her to use, she's sure.

Suspended somewhere between the 1,689 miles that'll keep them separated for the foreseeable future.

"Britta? Are you still there?" The anxious edge is clawing its way back into Annie's voice.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry, babe, my phone cut out for a sec," she lies. "That's amazing!"

She's not a good enough person to get her praise out without choking on it, and Annie softly murmurs, "I know," and it's obvious she's thought about the newly-formed complications already.

Britta goes for the one thing she can never lie about to Annie. "I'm so fucking proud of you."

"Thanks, hon. You know—you have to know—I never could've done this without your love and support. Without you encouraging me to take this leap. I'm still kinda stunned, to be honest," Annie admits. "Just knowing some of the experiences that other interns had and where they went to school—"

"Fuck that prestige bullshit," Britta interrupts. "You show up. You get shit done. You earned this. Go—go celebrate!"

She laughs. "I don't wanna until everything's actually official, but, I will." Britta gets a wave of a wistful sigh blown in her ear. "I just wish you were here to celebrate with me, Britta."

"Me too, Annie. Me too. Listen," she goes on, since she's not sure how much longer she can hold herself together, "I can hear Chang yelling about having to keep the grill on, so I'm gonna go eat and I'll catch up with you later?"

"Wait. If you're at Frankie's, why is Chang—you know what, never mind, I don't wanna know how he got to be in charge of the grill," Annie decides. "And yeah, that's fine. Would you mind not telling the others about my news til I have an actual offer?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks, Britta. Love you."

"Love you too."

She hangs up, stops pacing mindlessly, plops down on one of the tastefully designed bar stools around Frankie's kitchen island, and sighs.

" _The one fucking time I establish roots in this area that aren't intertwined with Greendale Community College, and it's when my girlfriend lands a potential dream job on the other side of the country."_

"Hey, how's Annie?" Jeff asks when she comes back out. She manages another lie, says, "She's fine, she got dragged into work today for some stupid reason and just wanted to chat since it's not busy," and promptly grabs a new beer from the cooler and cracks it open so she has an excuse to avoid talking for a bit.

She stops at the convenience store near her new-old place—surprise, surprise, she's living in another clap-trap rat box, since her public school system salary is shit—and buys a six pack of PBR for the first time in years.

Her excuse not to talk turns into an excuse not to think for the rest of the weekend.

**

Annie snacks on affirmations throughout the day now to go with her baby carrots, grapes, and cheese sticks.

" _You're valued. You have important skills,"_ she tells herself when her supervisor confirms, a couple of weeks after she'd spoken with Britta about it, that, yes, she's landed a job as a forensic data analyst with _the motherfucking FBI_.

It's with one of the Bureau's satellite offices a bit outside of D.C. proper, but still, she's splitting hairs that don't need to be separated.

" _You're loved,"_ she reminds herself when Britta shrieks in delight at the news and congratulatory texts roll in from Abed, Jeff, Frankie, Shirley, Craig, and even Hickey and Chang.

Her repetition of different affirmations isn't quite an addiction—more of a light compulsion, at most—and it might actually be healthy for Annie to participate in this kind of self-care, but she'd rather she didn't have to do it.

Because then she'd just be living carefree, or as carefree as she can manage, rather than trying to stave off the imposter syndrome that's praying to prey on her damaged, semi-repaired psyche.

She thought she'd buried it, but that particular ghost from her past keeps haunting her.

The annoying part is, she _knows_ she deserves this job. She knows she outworked and outwitted and even made a not-totally-brown-nosed attempt to out-schmooze the D.C.-based interns with their connections and standard four-year degrees and 2015 Mercedes and Audis with remote car starters.

That's the bitch of her mind's particularly dangerous perfectionism/imposter syndrome cocktail, though: she's perpetually driven to climb higher and higher, and then her brain pipes up, "Hey, look how fucking far down you'll fall once everyone figures out you shouldn't be here!"

And that doesn't even cover the fact that she's struggling to adjust to her and Britta's long-distance relationship suddenly becoming more long-term. It hits her like a runaway train, just how much she took their constant physical proximity for granted.

" _It's not even that we were all over each other constantly,"_ she realizes. _"But it just made things easier. Having that comfort, the knowledge that we'd be there for each other at the end of a shitty day."_

Between that, missing her friends, missing the weird order and familiarity in Greendale's expected chaos, and work stress for both of them, she's not too surprised that things go south for them for a bit. There are ebbs and flows, peaks and valleys in all relationships and friendships.

Annie's larger concern stems from her natural status as a problem-solver, both in math classes and in real life. You need to use the quadratic formula? Call Annie. You need to expunge black mold from the ceiling of a possibly haunted stairwell? Call Annie.

But she can't magically invent a suitable job for Britta in D.C., nor does she want to drag her away from a stable, mostly fulfilling position in Greendale too soon, lest she be cast into the dreaded category of "job-hopper." So for now, Annie's left wanting and waiting, but she kinda feels stranded, as if she's chilling on a street corner for a cab that never comes.

She snaps like an overstretched rubber band during one of their regular FaceTime calls at Britta's third moody variation of "this sucks."

"I know it sucks, Britta, you don't need to keep saying that," Annie snipes.

"Well, what the fuck else do you want me to say, Annie? That I'm thrilled that you're on the other side of the country and I don't know when the hell I'm gonna see you next?"

Annie gives a disbelieving laugh. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to apologize for busting my ass to get here?"

"No, of course not," Britta groans. "It's just—I didn't know this would be so difficult, or that it would make us feel—"

She clams up and Annie swears her blood freezes for a second before she speaks up. "Go on."

Britta blows out a breath and nods reluctantly. "It's making me feel like we're...kinda at odds, and a little broken. How is it making you feel?"

"Sort of the same," Annie admits, her voice shaking. "It's like we're not us right now. And that scares me. Admitting it scares me."

"I know. I didn't want to say anything, but we can't solve this if we don't talk. And if we don't talk, then we'll end up like season 9 Jim and Pam when they're forever pissed off at each other."

"They kinda both suck, anyway, til the writers intervened at the end," Annie answers, with a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "So let's not be like that. Let's—let's figure this out."

"Yes. Thanks, Annie, for moving us toward...something better, hopefully." She gives a small smile of her own. "Will you mind if I say this sucks one more time before I tell you some sappy heartfelt shit that I hope will make you feel better?"

"Not at all. And can I join you in saying it sucks? Cause it really does."

"Duh-doy, babe."

"Thanks. On three, then." Annie counts them off. "One, two, three…"

"This sucks," they chorus, and it feels like the weirdest cleanser ever, but it might be a start.

"You remember when we first said I love you to each other?" Britta asks.

Annie laughs despite their current situation. "In the shower at our old place, after I had a nervous breakdown over not wanting to go into hospital administration and being unsure of what my future would look like? So, kinda like now, minus being in a shower?"

Britta nods, laughing a little herself at Annie's recollection and joke. "And I promised I'd date the fuck out of you. Or said I wanted to. Whatever," she flaps her hands at the camera, "close enough. Either way, I'm gonna recommit to doing that, okay? Starting tomorrow," she decides. "What can I do for you tomorrow, love?"

"Umm…" Annie pauses before commenting softly, "First, just...thanks for that offer, Britts. And, this might sound a little weird, but would you be my workout buddy tomorrow night?"

Britta frowns. "How can I do that?"

"I've been working out at home since I don't really like taking public transportation to and from the gyms around here. I started recently to try to shut my brain off from all the stress."

"I haven't worked out properly in ages, so I'll probably regret saying yes to this. But, sure, I can do that. Send me whatever you're doing. If it's body weight stuff, I can at least try to keep up. And would you wanna FaceTime or Skype each other while we're doing that?"

"Yes, please. That would be nice," Annie comments, cheering up a bit. "And to turn your question around, what can I do for you that would make you feel like I'm dating you harder than anyone ever has before?"

"Ooh, gettin' a little frisky, are we?" Britta answers, throwing a wink her way, and Annie can feel her anxiety dissipating bit by bit; she's shedding it like a snakeskin, or at least trying to, rather than cloaking herself in it, and she feels a touch more certain that she and Britta can do this. "Maybe, after we work out, we could watch some mindless television together?" Britta suggests. "Work up a sweat and then have a laugh? Depending on what time you wanna work out."

"Lemme think…" Annie mentally turns her clock back two hours to account for the time difference. "Would you rather have dinner and then work out, or vice versa?"

"Definitely work out first, or I'm definitely not gonna be motivated to do it."

"Okay, and you get home by, what, four or so most days?"

"Yeah, so I could do 4:15, which would be 6:15 for you. Or we could schedule it for a bit later, depending on what you wanna do for dinner," Britta suggests.

"I think I'd rather work out and then eat, too, so let's shoot for 4:15 your time, 6:15 here," Annie agrees, and her heart soars the tiniest bit at the recognition of their past coming into play, a reprisal of how she and Britta adeptly navigated challenges together at Greendale and found solutions. It wasn't the easiest thing when they were both often too stubborn for their own good.

" _But stubbornness can sometimes be an asset,"_ she notes in her head as Britta asks her what might be for dinner tomorrow. _"Because I'm always going to fight for this, for Britta, for keeps."_

That conviction propels her through most of the next day, and while she kind of wishes she would've asked Britta to do something besides exercise, since she's feeling a bit ragged by the time 6:00 rolls around, she tells herself, _"At least Britta will be with you, in a manner of speaking."_ So she changes into her workout gear, loads up her workout playlist on Spotify, and launches Skype for her call with Britta.

"Hey, Annie," Britta answers, waving at her cheerily. "Nice outfit." She grins, gesturing at their matching workout attire, AKA an old Greendale t-shirt and black athletic shorts.

"Thanks! You ready to do this?" she asks.

"Not exactly, but I'd do anything for you."

Annie's heart swells at her girlfriend's generous affection just before she remembers something she'd wanted to do. "You want me to share my playlist with you? I'll usually do a rotation of workouts for song lengths, take a break, repeat."

Britta rolls her neck and stretches as she considers the question. "Sure, I'll take a look at it."

"Alright, just a sec," Annie mutters as she sends the link to Britta's account.

"Paramore, Fall Out Boy, All Time Low...overall, pretty heavy on the mid-2000s emo jams. Good shit, Annie. I can rock with this," Britta nods in approval.

"Great." Annie presses play on the first track for a second. "Can you hear that on your end, babe?"

"Turn it up a bit," Britta requests, then nods as Annie adjusts the volume. "That's good."

"Awesome. Time for crunches!" Annie declares with all the fake enthusiasm she can summon.

"I blame you for my body's future suffering," Britta remarks dryly, but she lays down on the floor, just the same.

Annie's struggled to find motivation to workout aside from getting her brain to shut the hell up for a bit between exercise and exhaustion, and it might be stupid, but having Britta there helps, and she can't help but identify a touch with Hayley Williams singing, " _You've hit your one wall, now find a way around."_ Because they're trying.

Annie closes her eyes, wills her body to work, and loses herself in the chugging guitars, the pounding drums, and Hayley's powerhouse vocals until she hears a strange, half-strangled puff from Britta.

She opens her eyes, stays sitting up at the top of her crunch, and looks at her laptop screen. "Britta? You okay?" she asks as she turns the music down.

"Daniel thinks I'm here to play with him," she mumbles, and, yes, the "little ball of terror," as she so fondly calls him, is perched atop her.

"Move, buddy," she cajoles, but he only settles himself in more comfortably on top of her, and Britta shrugs. "Well then, mister I fits, I sits, guess you're coming up with me," she grunts as she continues her workout.

Annie flops backward, but can't move for a good minute since she's laughing too hard, because who the fuck else besides Britta Perry would do crunches with a cat sitting on her chest?

Daniel eventually leaps off to go play with one of his toys, and Annie fondly murmurs, "I fuckin' love you, babe," as "For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic" draws to an end.

"I love you too, Annie," Britta answers back once she's done chugging her water. "Despite the whole feeling like I might die thing."

The rest of their workout is largely cat-free, and Annie wheezes at the end of it, "I gotta take a shower before dinner."

"Yeah, that's gonna be in order for me, too. Catch up with you later to watch some trash?"

"For sure," Annie agrees before an impish thought comes to mind. "Hey, Britts?"

"Hmm?"

Annie winks before she can tell herself some other FBI agent is probably tracking their video chat. "Think of me while you're in the shower?"

Britta blows her a kiss and answers, just as coquettishly, "I will if you will, darlin."

She does, with an ease she's missed, pulling from what feels like an endless string of nights together, of lazy mornings and the occasional afternoon, and the rare class or three Britta talked her into skipping without using a single word.

She sees a text from Britta when she gets out of the shower— _dinner together?—_ and the anxiety that's been swirling in the background noise of her mind quiets for what feels like the first time in months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the penultimate fic in this AU! I'm really excited about where the final one is heading, and all the feedback I've gotten on here and Tumblr has been a joy to read.

They're getting better at adapting. Or, at least, Britta knows she is—she spent a few too many nights during the first months of doing long-distance needing cheap booze or cheaper weed to help her get to sleep, but she's mostly reformed, now.

She and Annie wake up in the morning, like every morning, but the ones from before—during Greendale—were better. Because waking up apart never quite feels normal, not ever.

They're stretched thin across states, but still reaching for an invisible horizon. Half-hoping, half-terrified, that it might be forever.

They're not sure who texts out the mantra first— _life is hard, babe, let's get our shit together_ —during their shared early morning Wednesday workouts, one when Britta dutifully sets her alarm for four-thirty when Annie gets up at half past six, but it works.

They're making it work.

There are some days, even, between their much-needed visits to each other, when Britta can almost pretend they're back at Greendale.

Like one Friday night toward the end of the spring semester, around 8:30, a bit after she's gotten home from grabbing dinner and catching a movie with Jeff. It's nice, how they've been able to strengthen their friendship again, but also sad if they spend a little too much time together, since they inevitably remember that no one else from the original study group can be there with them.

She considers cracking open a beer and thinks she'll just have a strawberry mango seltzer instead (God, she's getting old) when Annie calls her on FaceTime.

"That's kinda weird," Britta murmurs as the call comes through. They usually check in before FaceTiming if it's sort of late in D.C., and it's already 10:30 there.

" _Then again, it is a Friday, and she could be seeing if I wanna watch a show or something,"_ she reasons as she answers. "Hey, Annie."

"Hiii, Britts!" Annie's voice is a couple notches louder than usual—there's music playing in the background of her apartment—and her grin is distinctly unfocused.

"What's up?" She spots a few people milling around in the background, and Annie seems to be holding her phone closer to her face than usual.

"I just wanted to say that I miss you. But not in like, the sad, pathetic way." She takes a sip of what looks like Coke. "More in the sense of we're having a party, and I wish you were here, and I just wanted to see your fuckin _gorgeous_ face _._ "

Britta just barely stifles her laughter before she asks, "Are you drunk, sweetheart?"

Annie tilts her head and gasps. "Excuse you, _no_ , I am not!"

One of her friends in the background calls, "Who the hell is Caroline Decker, Annie?"

Britta smirks at that, and Annie concedes, "Fine, maybe I'm a little bit tipsy, but," she insists, "that doesn't invalidate my reason for calling you. If anything, it shows my feelings are true. And anyway," she gets up from the couch with significantly more grace than Britta expected from her, "now you can meet some of my work friends!"

"I think I need a beer for this," Britta mutters to herself as she heads over to her fridge as Annie starts her introductions with a heartfelt promise that "they've only heard good things about you. A lot of good things about you." The first guy she meets, Chris, answers Annie to confirm that, and to ask if all the Greendale stories are true, and she laughs as she says yes and lists off some of her favorites—the paintball wars, briefly creating a cafeteria mafia in the name of securing chicken fingers, pulling off the grift during their last year there. And Annie gushes to her other friends, Alexa and Jason, that "I _told_ you I wasn't lying. Britts is insanely beautiful, right?"

She doesn't register her usual discomfort with receiving such effusive compliments, and she reminds herself to tell Annie, again, "Thanks for helping me address my self-loathing." And she doesn't need more than one beer to feel good, to feel great, tonight, and after she's met Annie's friends and they're sort of alone again, she murmurs, "I didn't know why you called me, initially, but I'm so glad you did."

"Me, too," Annie answers warmly before she glances out of frame and calls, "Hey, Alexa, good song choice!"

"You know _Drake?"_ Alexa answers, and Britta can hear her surprise on the other end as she replies for her girlfriend. " _Drunk_ Annie knows Drake."

"Not all of us are hipsters who refuse to listen to the radio, Britta," she groans with mock cynicism.

"Hey, I actually know this one. Some of it, at least," she argues back.

Annie lifts her eyebrows in a challenge and scoffs, "Yeah, right."

Britta sings back to her, since she can hear the chorus in the background, "I know things get hard, but girl, you got it, girl, you got it, there you go, can't you tell by how they're looking at you everywhere you go? Wonderin' what's on your mind, must be hard to be that fine…"

Annie's eyebrows somehow spike up higher into her hairline, her jaw drops, and Britta thinks, _"I'll never get tired of surprising her."_

No, she doesn't know the whole chorus, but then Annie's crooning, "Everything's addin' up, you been through hell and back, that's why you're bad as fuck, and you know you are," and, okay, maybe Drake (or whoever ghostwrites for him) actually has serious songwriting chops.

She revokes that thought once Nicki Minaj's verse comes in, but she cracks up at the stunned looks Annie's receiving, and failing to notice, as she raps damn near the entire thing, even having the slightly inebriated audacity to throw in a massive wink at some of the dirtier lines.

Annie finally feels her friends' eyes on her as she glances around the room. "What?"

"So, in case you couldn't tell from that little performance, drunk Annie kinda has aspirations of being a rap star," Britta teases, to massive laughs from everyone, even Annie herself. And since they can't be physically together at the moment, developing their bond this way definitely counts as the best alternative.

It's still just an alternative, though. A fact she remembers as she continually checks listings for potential job matches in D.C. on Indeed.

**

Annie has more patience than Britta thinks she could offer, were their situations reversed.

Part of it is just that Annie _knows_ , has heard about the fifteen jobs Britta's applied to over the last two years, almost, and the hours she's spent painstakingly tweaking her resume and cover letters for each unique opportunity.

She's been lucky to get email responses. She's had a handful of phone interviews, and a couple of video chat interviews, but other than that...nothing.

She wonders, again, _"What if I just moved to D.C. and got back into bartending while I job-hunted?"_

" _Except even that process would take a while,"_ Annie's voice answers back in her head, and she nearly slams her laptop shut in frustration.

And then. An email.

From The D.C. Center for the LGBTQ Community.

_Dear Ms. Perry,_

_We hope this email finds you well. Would you be available for a phone interview regarding the Youth Therapist position within the next week or so? Our associates are available during the following days and times…_

She tampers down the excitement in her chest as she replies, and she doesn't mention the opportunity to Annie; they've cycled through guarded optimism to rapid hope loss a few too many times within the past two months, and Britta figures, _"If anyone in our relationship is used to getting crushed, it's me. I'd rather deal with the inevitable disappointment myself rather than make her go through it again."_

The questions—are you planning to relocate, how do you see yourself contributing to our mission, what drew you to the opening, et cetera—are routine, and she knows how to answer them; Annie's given her tons of interview tips, and she's researched a decent number on her own, too. She thinks she hears a hint of interest in her interviewer's closing statement of, "Thank you so much for chatting with me today, Britta, and we'll be in touch with you by the end of next week," something that goes beyond standard professional niceties, but it's probably just her deluded desperation.

It's not.

As promised, she receives that email from the D.C. Center at the end of the week.

_Dear Ms. Perry,_

_Thank you for taking the time to meet with us last week. Based on our conversation, we would be interested in arranging an in-person interview with our leadership team within the next two weeks, depending on your schedule. We have the following days open and times open during this timeframe..._

Thank God it's July and she can mostly work from home, aside from attending the occasional professional development days that the district offers. And she can easily switch shifts with someone else at the Vatican.

She debates texting Annie, but she's not sure how much to say, or what to say, so she calls her instead, but she gets her voicemail.

"Hey, Annie, just wanted to let you know that I'm gonna be seeing you next week. I, um, landed an interview for a youth therapist job at the D.C. Center for the LGBTQ Community. Like, an in-person one, obviously. So, I'm gonna book a flight now. Talk to you later. Love you."

She's not surprised that Annie doesn't call her back until it's going on 7:30—she's been especially busy since getting promoted from a "junior" forensic data analyst to whatever a non-junior one is considered.

She _is_ surprised at just how loudly Annie yells, "You're gonna be here next week?!"

"Yep!" Britta answers happily.

"And you're going to rock that interview!" Annie affirms before apologizing, "I'm sorry, I hadn't even realized you'd applied to the D.C. Center."

"I, uh, didn't tell you," Britta admits. "I'd just been so tired of us both getting our hopes up and then being let down and...well, we're further along in the process than with any of the other places I'd applied, but I'm still worried I won't get the job."

"Hey, no bad-mouthing yourself," Annie responds sternly. "You're gonna ace it. You're smart and driven and caring, and any company would be lucky to have you working for them."

"Yeah," Britta answers, and even if she doesn't necessarily believe those things too often, she can fake it for Annie.

She realizes, afterward, that they left the obvious implication unspoken: that if she gets the job, that'll be it for the distance.

That they'll be moving, quite possibly, toward a future where they're always linked.

The thought rolls over Britta with a comforting warmth and near-frightening quickness, and she does her best to push it to the back of her mind—there's no way she'll be able to dismiss it entirely—as she starts her prep work.

She and Annie have been on a better wavelength for a while now.

But during the run-up to her interview, Annie becomes her saving grace, honestly, between helping her pick out what to wear (a sleek black suit with a cream button-down blouse and the blue sapphire teardrop necklace she'd gotten her for their third anniversary), quizzing her on potential interview questions, helping her refine her answers, and even getting tiny scoops of intel on the LGBTQ center from a couple of her co-workers.

Britta's nerves don't get the better of her, exactly, but she's so locked on going over her talking points that she's on autopilot when she gets to Annie's place the night before her interview.

She wakes up the next morning around 7:45 to the smell of freshly brewing coffee, and Annie offers her a cup with a gentle smile once she pads out of bed, and she thinks, _"I could so get used to this."_

"I've gotta go," Annie murmurs a little later on, once she's finished packing up her lunch, as she presses a kiss to Britta's forehead. "But I just wanted to wish you good luck. Though you won't need luck. You're gonna crush this interview, Britts."

"Thanks, Annie. I—I sure fucking hope so."

Annie catches her hands, still clutched around the _Gravity Falls_ mug Troy and Abed had sent Annie as a little white elephant Christmas present.

"You're going to." The words come out with such certainty, such confidence, and such belief that Britta might honestly cry, and the trembling quality to Annie's next sentence suggests she might, too. "I'm so proud of you, and I love you so much."

"I love you too," Britta whispers back as she kisses Annie goodbye once more. "I'll let you know how it goes. See you when you get home, babe."

"Yep." Annie gently brushes her lips over Britta's once more. "Okay, as much as I wanna stay here with you...I really gotta head out now," she chuckles, and she waves goodbye as Britta slowly closes her apartment door.

Britta's not a huge believer in luck or destiny, but she does appreciate that she managed to snag an 11:30 interview slot. Early enough that the executive team won't be too focused on lunch, late enough that she has some extra time to review her interview materials and make sure she's mapped out the proper subway route.

She appreciates the vibrancy to the building, to a color scheme that includes more than the muted blues and dark grays and browns that litter most offices within the Greendale school district's administrative buildings. And the center's president, programming director, and marketing leader greet her with what feels like genuine kindness and interest.

The interview feels neither too long nor too short—she's pretty sure she's been there for a shade under an hour, and she hasn't been thrown for any loops. Finally, the president, Anthony, comments, "We have one more question on our end. Beyond what drew you to us now, how do you see yourself contributing to our success moving forward over the next, say, two to three years?"

" _Okay, just spin your 'where do you see yourself in five years' response a little, and you should be all good,"_ Britta tells herself before she starts speaking. "I'd be a good fit with expanding your mental health wellness initiatives with local schools, given my experience in K-12 education. Plus, I understand the importance of promoting positive, supportive, and predictable environments for LGBTQ youth, both from my work and from volunteering at Greendale's youth services center. Additionally, while I recognize my role will largely be to provide services for individual youth and their family members, I believe I can help with streamlining the rollout of new flyers and other outreach materials for those clients, given my marketing experience from college. And finally," she adds, remembering what she'd read about the importance of selling oneself at any relevant opportunity during an interview, "given my focus on continuing my professional development, both through education and through attending seminars in the field of youth therapy, I'd be a great cultural fit with the center's vision of implementing even more sustainable improvements to benefit the D.C. community in the coming years."

She tries not to stare at any of her interviewers too intently or react too much to what seem to be quietly pleased nods. "Thank you for that response, Britta," Anthony answers before he turns to his colleagues. "Hannah, Zach, did either of you have any more questions?"

They both shake their heads and Anthony spreads his hands out. "Was there anything you wanted to know about our operations that we didn't cover?"

She asks them the usual interviewee questions—how would you define success in this position over the course of a year, what are the biggest challenges you're facing, what are your favorite parts of working here—and finally, finally lets her brain turn off after they've all exchanged final handshakes and "thank you so much for meeting with me" and "I look forward to hearing from you."

Well. She can't quite turn it all the way off, since she has to navigate her way back to Annie's place, but she can relax, at long last, and she texts her favorite girl once she's used her spare key to get into her apartment: _Just got back to your place. I felt like the interview went well, but it's always kinda hard to say, isn't it? They said they'll reach out to me in a week and a half to two weeks. Anyway, between flying and being kinda amped up on adrenaline to impress the execs, I'm sorta worn out, so I'm gonna take a little cat nap. Please call me in, like, an hour and a half if I haven't texted you that I'm awake by then._

Britta plugs her phone into one of the outlets near Annie's nightstand after she dashes off a thank you email to the people she interviewed with and tries to tell herself she falls asleep oh so easily because she's just exhausted. That her comfort has nothing to do with the fact that she can smell Annie's light, slightly floral perfume in her room.

" _You've gotten so bad at maintaining that badass persona ever since you started dating her,"_ some part of her subconscious laughs just before she succumbs to sleep.

**

Annie can't help but smirk to herself as she reads Britta's message.

Yes, yes, of course, her first priority is hoping Britta lands the job, that goes without saying.

But she'd also like the opportunity to jump her girlfriend later, frankly, and it probably won't be too difficult to convince her to stay in for dinner if she's already taking a cat nap.

So she texts Britta later on to tell her, _I can pick up takeout from Romero's for dinner since you're worn out—they've got amazing Italian, and it's only about a five minute walk away from home. But we still definitely deserve to celebrate your success and have a nice dinner together! Check out their website when you're feeling more awake, lemme know what you want in a bit, and I'll put our order in._

Britta's answer comes in with surprising speed: _Omg get me the veggie lasagna please and thanks—you rock babe xoxox_

"What is it?" Alexa asks Annie when she catches her grinning at her phone like a dumbass.

"Nothing, just—looking forward to the end of the day," Annie responds, still smiling a little too widely.

And technically, she's telling the truth, anyway.

The rest of Annie's day passes uneventfully. She's waiting for fingerprinting results from a small spate of convenience store robberies to come back, so she doesn't have a crazy amount of work to do, which suits her just fine for once.

She stops at Romero's to pick up their dinner—vegetarian lasagna for Britta, chicken Parmesan for herself—and impulsively adds a decadent slice of chocolate cake to their order. Britta shouts, "Door's open, hon!" as she approaches her apartment and it's nice to not have to fumble with keys for once.

Nicer, still, to drink in the sight that greets her: Britta, lounging on her couch in pajamas, with the local news on, of course. And she's already set her small kitchen table with plates, napkins, silverware, waters, and glasses of wine.

Britta, standing up, gazing at her with something like adoration as she comments softly, "I'm so glad you're home, babe."

Annie ducks back toward the door for a second under the guise of putting her purse down so she can get a grip on herself.

Because seeing this little simulation of what life with Britta might look like makes her want it, makes her _need it_ with disarming force.

"Me, too," Annie manages to answer, and she and Britta exchange a quick kiss like they've done this tons of times.

" _We have,"_ she supposes. _"But only at Greendale. Not in a home that was just for us."_

"I'm glad I thought of takeout, honestly, because the thought of cooking right now in this heat…" she shakes her head. "Thank God for central air conditioning."

"It's the humidity that really gets you," Britta observes after she takes a bite of her lasagna. "Ooh, this is delicious. Great call on...what place was it, again? Romeo's?"

"Romero's," Annie corrects her. "And I got us a little something extra for later. Now," she goes on as she cuts a small piece of chicken parm, "tell me all about your interview."

She's thrilled to see Britta brighten up at the question. "I thought I connected well with everyone there. They clearly know what they're doing, from looking at their history, but they're not afraid to make changes to grow and better serve the community. Early signs seem promising, but," she shrugs, "you never know who else interviewed."

Annie reaches her hand across the table for Britta's. "I know you're wanting to be level-headed and realistic," she notes gently, "but I'm super impressed with you no matter what happens."

"Thanks, Annie." Britta smiles at her, leans across the table, kisses her, and Annie marvels, once again, at how damn beautiful this could be.

She distracts herself from her daydream with her dinner—Britta was right, it's delicious, as usual—and between a glass of Merlot and cake later, she's utterly, completely sated.

Until Britta offers her something of a lingering kiss as they're cleaning up after dinner and it's all too easy for her to tilt her head and open her mouth and nip the left corner of Britta's bottom lip.

"You taste like wine and chocolate," Britta whispers.

"You like?" These kinds of leading questions are Annie's favorite to ask, the one where Britta's answers—both verbal and non-verbal—are guaranteed to please her.

"I love it. I love you. I—" Britta's yawn cuts off the rest of her answer, and she murmurs, "Sorry, babe, I'm still a bit tired—"

"Let me take care of you, then," Annie quietly interrupts. "Whatever that means, sex or otherwise."

"Take me," Britta breathes against her lips as she's backpedaling into Annie's bedroom. "But could you be extra soft tonight, please?"

Annie nods deliberately as they sink onto her bed. "Slow tempo, all gentle unless you wanna change it up at some point?"

Britta nods, too, and murmurs, "You're so good to me, baby," as Annie works her fingers through her blonde tresses.

Jeff had it wrong, all those years ago, she thinks.

Britta's not always a hurricane.

Sometimes she's a barely-there drizzle, a light mist. More refreshing and relaxing than raging.

It just takes the right person to draw it out of her.

**

Britta very purposefully tries to forget what day her interview was once she gets back to Colorado, and she picks up a bunch of extra shifts at the Vatican during the first couple weeks of August so she's not just at home refreshing her email every five minutes.

Instead, she's often refreshing her email at work, but at least she's getting paid there.

She's stopped expecting to get a message from the LGBTQ center until the very end of the two week period that Anthony mentioned at the end of her interview, and between an in-service day at school and bartending in the early evening, she nearly goes an entire Friday without checking.

Until she gets home, and she sees the email sitting there in her inbox, threatening to potentially blow her and Annie's life even further apart: Youth Therapist Position at the D.C. Center for the LGBTQ Community—Decision Update. Sent to her around the end of the work day.

She clicks on it with fumbling fingers.

_Dear Britta,_

She refuses to consider the rest of the message for a minute and lets herself indulge in the idle daydream that she got the job. That she won't see the telltale "Thank you for your time" or "We appreciated you coming in" or whatever form message they send out to rejected applicants.

" _At least dear Britta is a more personal way to start a 'we're not interested' email than dear Ms. Perry,"_ she thinks glumly.

She takes a deep breath and scrolls down.

_Congratulations! We're thrilled to offer you the Youth Therapist position, as we feel that you'll make a valuable addition to our team here at the D.C. Center for the LGBTQ Community. I know we briefly touched on when you could start during the interview process—please give us a call early next week, by Tuesday at the latest, to discuss that in more detail. We look forward to hearing from you and having you come aboard!_

She reads it back twice before she can't for a second, and she doesn't know why, at first, but it suddenly hits her that she's crying.

It's nearly 11:30 in D.C., but what the fuck is she gonna do, _not_ call her girlfriend of five years, give or take (holy _shit_ that's crazy to think about) with this news? Wait to tell her til tomorrow?

Fuck, no.

She's typed Annie's number in so often that it comes up first after she's only put in the area code, and she quickly presses the "Call" button.

Annie's voice comes out groggy, heavy with sleep. "H'lo? Britta?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, babe, but I have some incredible news and it really couldn't wait."

"Wha' is it?" she sounds the tiniest bit more awake.

"I did it." She waits a beat, realizes that's clear as mud to someone who'd just gotten knocked clean out of a deep REM cycle, then breathlessly adds, "The youth therapy job, Annie. I got the job. At the LGBTQ center."

"You got…" Annie repeats slowly, then, it obviously hits her, as she shrieks, "You got the job?!"

"I got the job!" Britta yells back.

"And you're coming to D.C. and we're gonna live together!"

The reality of that statement hits both of them, and Britta knows she's officially out of street cred when the sound of Annie gently crying tears of joy sets off a crying jag of her own.

"We're gonna make a home together, Annie," Britta adds with a sniffle, and she can't believe those words just passed across her lips, but her girlfriend's worth every ounce of the sorts of promises she never thought she'd pledge to anyone.

"Yes. Yes, we are, Britts. I… _God_ , I thought I was fine til you said that, but now I'm tearing up again," Annie answers, her voice half-broken as she chokes out a laugh and keeps talking. "There's no one I wanna do that with but you."

"Yes, yes, yes," Britta repeats, blowing kisses into the phone, reveling in how Annie's laughter rings in her ears.

And as she finally catches her breath, she realizes that this is the biggest step she's ever taken with anyone. For anyone. _To_ anyone, even, considering she and Annie currently live 1,689 miles away from each other.

She should be more frightened of that change, maybe, and she's sure a small, healthy dose of fear will come once the initial high of excitement wears off in the morning.

But mostly, when Britta contemplates the nitty-gritty logistics of uprooting her life for one Annie Edison, she thinks, _"I'm ready."_


End file.
